The Long Wait

I’d like to think I gave this man a fond memory, something he talks about even to this day. I might even be right. This is probably a story he shared with friends and family for years. I imagine him at a family barbeque, telling the story, only to be met with groans of “Not again!” Or perhaps it’s the other way around. Maybe every family reunion he’s asked to tell the story about the lady in the pharmacy so a new crop of teens could hear and wish that maybe someday it would happen to them.

I was in my early 30s, still in peak form, someone people noticed. I had 5 sick kids at home, though, and I was tired. We had just finished a marathon session with the pediatrician, and I had taken my kids home to a sitter so they wouldn’t have to be sick in the waiting in the pharmacy.

The pharmacy was packed. It was that time of year: The cruds were making the rounds in the valley, and people were coughing, sniffling, and generally looking miserable as we all sat in the pharmacy lobby waiting for our names to be called.

“Lobby” is a bit of a grand word for the actual architecture of the glass-walled cubby of a pharmacy. It was a long and narrow section of the downstairs main lobby, walled off to give the appearance of an actual room, with seats lining the center aisle like beefeaters standing at the ready for the queen’s inspection.

By that afternoon, I was already exhausted. My kids were sick, each needing dosing of different medications at different times. Casual Friday was my everyday attire, but that day I was nearly in pajamas. I was all about comfort and no fuss by that point. That day I had chosen to wear an oversized T-shirt and leggings, and I was barefoot.

I had already dropped off the doctor’s prescriptions. Filling the script would take about 40 minutes, they had told me, so I decided to grab an empty seat and wait it out. This was back in the day of waiting room magazines for entertainment; no cell phones or Facebook to keep us occupied. I grabbed the first magazine I saw –some women’s magazine telling me how I could be a single mother while still keeping up appearances or telling me how I could prepare 7 simple meals that would feed a family of five for under $15. Drivel. I was sitting on the chair, legs crossed “criss-cross applesauce”, reading drivel, okay? It was the only way I could sit comfortably, and the magazine was better than just staring into space. Barely.

Every now and then I would glance up, see if someone was at the counter trying to pronounce my name. I tried to judge how much longer it would take by how many of the people who were there when I arrived were now gone. We were making progress, but it was still going to be a long wait. Some people were leaning against walls, obviously exhausted. Some people struggled with crying or misbehaving children. I had been smart to leave mine with the neighbor. One woman had taken up two seats; one for herself, and one for her enormous bag that seemed capable of hiding Mary Poppins herself. There was a man sitting across from me. He had caught my attention because of his demeanor. While everyone else was haggard, sick, impatient, or sweaty with fever, he was sitting patiently, smiling. He had a lovely smile, and he was thoroughly enjoying his stay in the Lobby of Hell.

I went back to the magazine. There was an article proclaiming I could lose a pound a day, an article on how I could get 27 free product samples, and one on Fergie - I'm still not sure which one. I tossed the magazine aside. The only other magazine I could see was a Highlight. I would have preferred reading about my 27 free product samples.

One lucky patient’s name was called. He set down a Nat Geo before getting up and walking down the aisle. I snatched it up with glee. Finally, something worth reading! As I settled back in my chair, admiring the cover of the magazine – a whirling dervish in a blur of bright red – I again noticed the man sitting across from me. We made eye contact. His smile broadened and he nodded a greeting to me. Damn straight! I had scored! Nat Geo in a crowded waiting room? That’s hitting the lottery! I smiled conspiratorially back and started flipping through the magazine.

I waited and read, read and waited. My magazine coconspirator kept smiling and nodding to me. By that time, I had decided he probably had some sort of personality thing going on, bless his heart, and chose to ignore him. Finally, after what felt like months of waiting, my name was called (incorrectly, of course) and I got up to grab the prescriptions at the pharmacy counter. As I turned to leave, my pharmacy hell buddy once again nodded to me in thanks, it appeared, half bowing as I walked past him.

Whatever. Maybe he was there for psych meds. Who am I to judge?

I got home, still exhausted with the rest of the day already laid out and stretching far ahead of me. I had kids to dose, soup to make, sheets to clean, little foreheads to soothe. By nightfall, all the kids were puked out, rehydrated, and lined up on the mattress downstairs in the area we called the Other Livingroom, so I could get to them quickly during the night if need be. Thankfully, they were all asleep.

With the first minute to myself, I drew a bath, peeled off my clothing. . . and realized my leggings had a 4-inch rip in the crotch seam.

I don’t wear underwear.

It hit me like a stone. Images of the man in the pharmacy smiling at me, nodding, raising his eyebrows in what I had thought was congratulations for scoring the National Geographic magazine. No wonder he had been so happy! He must have thought it was intentional. He even thanked me with a bow as I left! I was mortified, but thankfully, long removed from the scene of my biggest oopsie.

For a long time, I worried I might run into that man again someday at the pharmacy. It wasn’t like I was going to forget that grin any time soon. Now, though, in retrospect, the whole show probably made that guy’s day. It made his pharmacy stay a pleasure, I imagine, instead of the drudge it was for everyone else. I will live in this guy’s memory for the rest of his life.

Glad to help, mate!